“When she come ter Greef King’s cabin, he done foun’ de laddah, en one er he foots was on de rung. He had er ax in he han’. De po’ li’l gal was peepin’ down thoo’ de cracks o’ de flo’, en prayin’ de bestes’ she know how. She say arterwuhds dat she reck’n de Good Lawd sen’ er angel, fo’ Miss Shirley were all in white—she didn’ stop ter change huh close. She didn’ say nuffin, Miss Shirley didn’. She on’y lay huh han’ on Greef King’s ahm, en he look at huh face, en he drop he ax en go. Den she clumb de laddah en fotch de chile down in huh ahms en take huh on de hoss en come back. Dat de way et happen, suh.”
“And Rickey was that little child!”
“Yas, suh, she sho’ was. In de mawnin’ er posse done ride up ter Hell’s-Half-Acre en take Greef King in. De majah he argyfy de case fo’ de State, en when he done git thoo’, dey mos’ put de tow eroun’ King’s nek in de co’ot room. He done got th’ee yeah, en et mos’ broke de majah’s ha’at dat dey couldn’ give him no mo’. He wuz cert’n’y er bad aig, dat Greef wuz. Dey say he done sw’ah he gwineter do up de majah when he git out. De po’ ’ooman she stay sick dah at Rosewood all wintah, but she git no bettah moughty fas’, en in de spring she up en die. Den Miss Shirley she put li’l Rickey at Miss Mattie Sue’s, en she pay fo’ huh keep eber sence outer huh own money. Dat whut she done, suh.”
Such was the story which Uncle Jefferson told, standing in the doorway. When his shuffling step had retreated, Valiant went to the table and picked up a slim tooled volume that lay there. It was the Lucile he had found in the hall the night of his arrival. He opened it to a page where, pressed and wrinkled but still retaining its bright red pigment, lay what had been a rose.
He stood looking at it abstractedly, his nostrils widening to its crushed spicy scent, then closed it and slipped it into his pocket.